


illicit affairs

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Secret Relationship, idk what happened along the way, this was supposed to be angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: and that's the thing about illicit affairsand clandestine meetingsand longing stares
Relationships: Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93
Collections: Anonymous





	illicit affairs

**Author's Note:**

> this is just the taylor swift song, but with a bit more words. (i first listened to it and immediately thought of carlando, so here we are.)
> 
> have some disjointed snippets of something
> 
> this isn't proof/beta read we die like men
> 
> as always, disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, please do not involve the actual people it's about

Lando closes the door behind him, careful not to let it fall shut and make a noise. He walks the short walk, takes the stairs, just in case. His hood pulled firmly over his head like it would make a difference if someone were to spot him now.

When he shuts the door of his own hotel room behind him, he lets his head drop against the calming cool surface of the wood, relieved he didn't run into anyone.

Why would he, anyway? It's not like anyone has a reason to be up at this hour.

Hoodie discarded, Lando climbs into his bed and tries to get some sleep before he has to get up early in the morning, tries not to think about what he is doing.

***

Jon asks him where he has been, nearly late for their meeting. Lando hopes, prays that his flushed skin doesn't betray him. He tells his trainer a practised lie, he was out for a run. 

By the way he narrows his eyes, it is clear Jon doesn't quite believe him. He knows best of anyone how much Lando hates running, won't do it unless mandated. He lets the exchange slide, though. Doesn't ask any more questions, just starts up his laptop.

Lando exhales before sliding down in the empty desk chair, getting ready to go through the week's nutrition plans.

***

During some Sky interview for a feature, Carlos keeps staring at him. Lando can feel it, his eyes prickling on his skin. It sends little shivers of electricity through his body, sparks of excitement tingling all over.

When he looks over and catches Carlos's eyes, the other man swiftly averts his gaze. It stings, a little.

He focuses back on the presenter, the microphone in front of his face and the questions about the track, his results, his future. He duly answers each question, pre-rehearsed PR phrases he went over that morning.

Oh, how he wishes he knew what the future holds.

***

He knows he shouldn't, but the hands on his skin, the words whispered into the side of his neck bring him an indescribable high.

Like a drug, Lando keeps chasing it. The effect doesn't wear off, doesn't get lesser with each time.

In the moment, it feels so good, so right, like he was supposed to do this all his life. The dark hallway he finds himself in not much later tells him the contrary.

The sinking feeling only follows him after.

***

A foot nudges his, under the tables of the briefing room. Lando kicks it, softly.

The foot retreats, only to return, slowly travelling up and down his calf. He leans into it, just a little, shuffles in his seat so that he can look over the monitors, the bright spiking graphs only in his peripheral.

He catches Carlos's stare and blushes. Lando looks around, checks if anybody noticed, looks back up again.

Carlos is still staring at him and smiles.

Lando smiles too, like it's a joke only they're in on.

The rest of the debrief is boring as always, and ever so often when an engineer is speaking about some technicalities he sneaks another look. The man across always looks back, knowing, understanding.

***

Lando's reflection stares back at him, slightly paled in the hotel lighting. He runs his hand through his hair, one, two, three more times.

He wants to look nice, presentable. Not that it matters, not that they can go anywhere where they can be seen.

Some more product, to define the curls. He pulls at them, twists a little. When he steps back from the mirror he turns his head left, right. It'll do.

He looks at his bag of toiletries spilt out over the sink and picks up the small bottle of cologne. It's his favourite.

Lando decides against it. Better not to.

He runs his hand through his hair one last time, takes a deep breath and plucks the keycard out of the holder.

***

Will invites him to team drinks after, just a couple of guys from his garage. Lando smiles, jokes that they should know he doesn't drink.

They also know that he can't have any other important commitments, their flight leaves tomorrow morning and all of today's activities are wrapped up and done. He should let loose for a bit, join the others and have some fun.

Lando thanks his engineer for the offer, tells him he is tired after the weekend and prefers to go back to the hotel and rest.

He doesn't tell him who he is meeting there. (And that resting probably isn't on the planning.)

***

Lando observes from where he is perched on the workbench on his side of the garage. 

The mechanics working tirelessly on his car, making sure everything is secured and all the parts do what they are supposed to. The engineers at the island, pouring over the numbers and lines on the screens. Henrik with his camera, trying to capture everything but not too much. Helen, glued to her phone.

Carlos, race suit tied around his waist, deep in conversation with one of his engineers, who is pointing at something on a monitor.

His hair is sticking up at all sides, not having bothered to fix it after taking his balaclava off.

When the conversation is finished, he claps his engineer on the shoulder and turns around.

Lando watches him as he smiles and waves, his eyes softening.

Carlos isn't smiling at him, though, or anyone of the team.

And Lando knows, but he looks anyway, follows Carlos's line of sight. 

There she is, radiant as always. Lando's heart breaks, even though he knows. He knows what he got into. It still hurts a little too much to bear, so he looks away, busies himself with his race shoes.

It isn't her fault, he knows that, too. If anything, he should be feeling sorry for her, but he can't.

***

They're doing another interview, together.

Most of the questions are about their 'bromance', their futures, Ferrari, Daniel.

Carlos praises him, like he always does.

And Lando wants to scream, _no, don't call me 'kid'_ , he doesn't get to call him that. It's wrong.

Almost as wrong as all the times Carlos called him 'baby', quietly, late at night between the sheets.

He isn't his fucking baby, never will be.

(Oh, how Lando wishes.)

Lando's a fool, a downright idiot for ever believing a single word he said to him.

Every night, every morning they spent together he ruined himself a little, piece by piece.

Carlos knows it damn well.

(And Lando would do it all over again, and again.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, kudos and comments are direct serotonin and also please do leave constructive criticism where necessary. many thanks.


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